User:Sgt Wyant/Team Recon

 You find a battered old post-outbreak C.B. Transceiver lying among a small pile of debris. Intermittent hisses 
of static cut through the eerie silence as the long overdue batteries struggle to keep the device operating. 
The microphone has long since disappeared and the channel indicator has been thoroughly smashed. As you admire 
this relic of the past you begin to notice a faint whisper coming from the lone speaker...you strain to make out 
what it is...
                         
                                      ...ONE...ONE...ZERO EIGHT...

  A loud groaning snaps you back to reality; zombies...probably two or three of them approaching from the 
southwest. Shaking off the shock you strain to hear the message again, wondering if it was just a figment of your 
imagination...

  Nothing, the Transceiver lies dead. Quickly adjusting your shotgun you steel yourself for the next leg of your 
journey...the safehouse is just a few blocks away. Trotting off into the night you glance back once more at the 
small crumbling courtyard. One question consumes your mind...

  What did it mean...?